On the welcoming stretch of Dongshan City, a Lamborghini tore down the road at breakneck speed. Passersby couldn't help but turn and stare.
Convertible cars were common, but a car with its door torn off? That was something rare.
Behind the wheel, Lin Shuai was grinding his teeth in fury. He had spent over three million yuan on this brand-new car less than a month ago. The plates hadn't even been installed yet, the seat barely warm, and now—some rustic had pulled the door off!
The thought of revenge consumed him. Compensation? Forget it—he wanted this bastard's life!
Ning Xiru's car was long gone, left far behind. Lin Shuai turned onto the Shanhai Expressway, and Chen Xinan's fate was now entirely in his hands.
Chen Xinan, meanwhile, was suffering from motion sickness. As soon as he got in, he lay flat against the seat, legs pressed hard against the front, gripping the edge of the chair beneath him. His face was pale, eyes squeezed shut.
Not surprising—looking at him, this was probably the first luxury car he'd ever ridden. He didn't even know how to buckle a seatbelt. No wonder he was nauseous.
Lin Shuai secretly hoped he didn't wear one—the car had no door, after all. One sharp turn and Chen Xinan would be flying out. At these speeds, death seemed inevitable.
The speedometer climbed past 180 km/h. Lin Shuai pressed harder, pushing toward 200.
Beside him, Chen Xinan reached into his coat pocket, trembling slightly, and pulled out a small wooden box the size of a cigarette pack. He opened it carefully.
Lin Shuai squinted. Inside were long, thin silver needles.
Chen Xinan took three, pressed them into his forehead and scalp, and exhaled. His complexion flushed, his face showing life again.
What… was that?
Lin Shuai was stunned, not understanding what the man beside him was doing. But at this point, nothing could save Chen Xinan if Lin Shuai wanted him gone. One sharp turn, and the bumpkin would be ejected.
Ahead, a bend appeared in the road. At this speed, no car door, no seatbelt—death was certain.
Lin Shuai's lips curved into a cruel grin. Ignoring the speed limit, he stomped the accelerator, then yanked the handbrake and swerved left. Tires screamed, objects inside the car flew to the right.
This bastard's going to die!
Moments later, Lin Shuai slowed down, expecting to see Chen Xinan thrown aside—but froze.
The passenger seat, which should have been empty, still held someone sitting upright. Feet braced, back straight, perfectly balanced.
How was that possible? At those speeds, even with a seatbelt, most people would have flown out. How was he unharmed?
"Stop the car." Chen Xinan's voice was calm, but carried an unmistakable weight.
Lin Shuai went pale. This rustic had just tried to kill him, and now wanted to settle the score?
"Don't! We're on the highway! If you touch me, we both die!" Lin Shuai stammered, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Damn it—how did the car end up here? There's no one to help!
"Will you stop or not?" Chen Xinan asked, face serious.
"I won't! Let's talk it out! I'm Lin Shuai, vice president of Liangmao Liquor, Ning Xiru's assistant. If you dare touch me, how will I explain to Xiru?!"
"Not stopping, huh? Fine. Then don't blame me!" Chen Xinan smirked.
The Lamborghini screeched to a sudden stop. Lin Shuai gagged, staring at the vomit covering his pristine interior.
"What the hell did you do? My Gallardo! Brand new! And you vomit inside? You did this on purpose!"
Chen Xinan wiped his mouth with his sleeve, removed the silver needles from his head, and said casually, "I told you to stop, but you refused. Oh, and you said I didn't need to pay for your car? Fine—120 yuan, take it or leave it."
Lin Shuai didn't reply, only focused on cleaning his car. He had no energy left for anything else.
In the west side of the city, a repair shop was busy. Lin Shuai seemed to know the place well. Inside, a Maserati was being repainted, and a young man of about seventeen with brightly dyed hair stood with four or five peers.
"Young Master Ming!" Lin Shuai greeted warmly, pointing toward Chen Xinan.
The dyed-haired boy—Ming—waved at Chen Xinan. "Come here!"
Chen Xinan strolled over lazily, hands in pockets. "What do you want?"
The group cursed at him. "Come when we call, you idiot!"
"Lin Shuai, you're being bullied by this thing? He's just a rustic farmer, right?"
"Ha! Lin Shuai, heir of the million-dollar car club, actually humbled by a dirt-covered bumpkin! This is hilarious!"
The "million-dollar car club" was Dongshan City's elite rich-kid circle—arrogant, reckless, and always stirring trouble.
Chen Xinan ignored them, looking at Ming. "Who are you, and why call me over?"
Ming pointed to his nose mockingly. "You don't even know me—Lei Ming—and you think you can run Dongshan?"
Chen Xinan raised an eyebrow. "Why would I need to know you to run Dongshan? Are you some kind of official?"
Ming choked. The others laughed hysterically.
A boy with an earring snapped at Ming. "This guy's a moron! Don't waste time—teach him a lesson!"
Chen Xinan turned to the earring boy. "You're the idiot here! I didn't know him!"
Ming laughed, pointing at the earring boy.
The earring boy scowled. "You're the idiot! I'm a man! Can't you see?"
Chen Xinan sneered. "If you're a man, act like one. I hate fake men."
The earring boy raised his hand to slap him—but before he could, Chen Xinan delivered a lightning-fast counter-slap. The boy spun in the air, legs giving way, and fell flat on the ground.